


The Rhetoric and Treason of Saying That I'll Miss You

by Chash



Series: Weary With Right Angles [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy's a pretty good soulmate, as it turns out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rhetoric and Treason of Saying That I'll Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not likely to add a lot to this 'verse, and I won't be doing any Raven/Wick for it (sorry to all who wanted that!), but sometimes you just wanna write some phone sex I guess.

To his surprise, Bellamy isn't a bad soulmate.

It's not like he expected it to be, and not even just because Clarke is herself, not the unknown guy he thought she would be. For all Miller makes fun of him, they go--not _slow_ , not really. He knows slow is the wrong word when she's practically moved in after less than a week, spends most nights in his bed and most afternoons on his couch. But they're still going slow in the ways Bellamy never has before, because he's seen her naked a few times, has kissed her _a lot_ , but they're still hanging out just past first base, in terms of physical relationship.

Not that Bellamy minds. He's looking forward to eventually having sex with her, spends a lot of time thinking about it, but--it's going to happen, he has no doubt, so it doesn't have to happen _now_.

Mostly, having a soulmate so far involves a lot of talking and physical affection, and Bellamy's great at those. And Clarke _needs_ that, a lot more than she needs to get laid. 

They have a lot of weird milestones at the beginning of their relationship too, which makes it feel like they're going quickly. Her birthday comes only a week after they meet, and they have a party. Then they part for Thanksgiving, and Bellamy feels it like an actual ache, not having her in bed next to him. She texts him and they talk every night she's away, but he still hates it, and hates that he hates it. But she's spending the holiday with her mother, and he knows she's still awkward with her mother. He wants to be there with her, or have her with him. They're a team now. She shouldn't have to be alone.

"You're never allowed to say anything about my soulmate," Octavia tells him, smug. "You are the saddest _of all time_."

"She's having a shitty year."

"She _was_ having a shitty year," says O. "Now she has you."

He frowns. "That's weirdly supportive, for you."

"I'm just saying, you guys are, like, super functional. I'm really impressed. She totally loves you."

"I know."

"You haven't told me much about her," their mother comments, but she sounds warm, not offended.

Bellamy's relationship with his mother isn't much less complicated than Clarke's is with hers, if he's honest. He knows she's a little resentful that Kevin left, and that she doesn't blame him for it, not _really_. But he thinks she wonders what her life would be like if he didn't exist, and neither of them knows how to deal with that.

It doesn't help that she left him to do most of the work raising Octavia too. He can't blame her for it either, not really, because she had to work, to support them, but--it's still _there_. There's all this knowledge that hangs over the two of them, like the sword of Damocles. He doesn't think it will ever drop, but they can't forget it either.

"She's great," he tells her, offering Aurora a smile. "I never know what to say about her, honestly. She had a really rough last year, like I said. She transferred schools for a new start. She's studying art, she wants to be a teacher. She's--" He ducks his head, doesn't ever know what else to say. He adores her. She's amazing. He doesn't have the words for Clarke. "She's my soulmate," he says, and Aurora smiles.

"I'm glad," she says, and he believes it.

"How's home?" he asks Clarke, when he calls on Thursday.

"Okay. Pretty good, honestly. A lot better than I expected. Mom's so happy about you, it's great."

"Glad I'm helping remotely."

"Always. How's yours?"

"The usual. Mom and I are kind of awkward. I think she's happy for me? About you. So that's cool. I thought she might be rooting for me to never find my soulmate."

"That's fucked up."

He flops onto his bed with a yawn. "Yeah, well. We're an awesome family." He pauses and admits, "O says I'm a good soulmate."

"Did you think you weren't?"

"No, but I'm tired and cranky and I want some validation."

Clarke laughs, and he wishes, so much, that she was here. "You're the best soulmate I've ever had."

"Wow."

"I know, it's a major accomplishment. Seriously, Bellamy," she adds, softer. "You're a great soulmate. I think--" She laughs. "You worry about it _so much_ , of course you're good at it."

"Thanks?"

"I mean it, it's a good thing. People think--soulmates and that's it. That's all you need. You still--care. So much. That's how I knew you'd be good. You don't just assume destiny is going to do all the work." There's a pause, and then she says, "You know I love you, right?"

"I figured, yeah," he says, but his voice is rough. It hasn't been long, not really. A few weeks. He didn't feel like she should be saying it. But--yeah. He's been in love with her since the first fucking _day_. "I love you too."

"I know." She clears her throat, deliberate. "So, what are you wearing?"

He laughs. "A smile, obviously."

"I'm wearing your t-shirt," she says.

"Which one?"

"The Tufts one."

"I'm glad we've been dating for less than a month and you've already stolen multiple shirts from me."

"It smells like you."

He closes his eyes. "Yeah, I wish your stuff fit me."

"You'd look cute." She's quiet again, and he wonders if he should hang up. He doesn't really want to. "I'm not wearing anything except your shirt," she says, and suddenly he's very awake.

"Oh."

She laughs, soft. "Just saying. What are you really wearing?"

"Uh, I'm fully clothed. T-shirt, jeans, socks."

"But you don't have to be, right?"

"No, definitely not." He puts the phone down to tug off his shirt and jeans, settles back on the bed in his boxers, half-hard already. "Okay, boxers and socks."

"Still socks?"

"My room's in the attic, it's cold. I'm in _Vermont_ , Clarke." He shifts a little. "What do you want?"

"You," she says. "I wasn't expecting to miss you this much."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"If--if I said I wanted you to get me off, what would you do? If I was there."

He lets out a ragged breath. "God, what wouldn't I do?" He palms himself through his boxers. "I'd do what you wanted. I'd ask. I just want--I want to make you happy."

"If you weren't so obviously turned on I'd say you're awful at this," she teases. "I know that's what you want, but it makes for bad dirty talk."

"Sorry I love you and want to take care of you." He wets his lips. "I can tell you what I think about when I jerk off." She moans, soft, and he groans in response. "Your breasts, obviously. Fuck, I love your breasts. I could just--I'm going to spend _hours_ with your breasts, Clarke."

"Yeah," she says.

"Are you touching them for me?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still wearing my shirt?"

"Yeah, I'm--fuck. I'm home alone, so I've got you on speaker phone with your shirt hiked up over my breasts. I'm just groping myself, wishing it was you."

"Why are you home alone? It's _Thanksgiving_."

She huffs out a laugh. "Focus, Bellamy. We had Thanksgiving dinner and then they went to get drinks with Mom's coworker, I said I didn't want to go and called you. So we could have phone sex. I'm not being neglected. I'm wet and I've got my hands on my breasts, now is not the time.."

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing. "Okay, um. Fuck. What do you like?"

"I like people playing with my breasts, so that's good. I like, um--I like getting teased. I'm pretty sensitive so if you just touch me for a while, like--trail your hands over my back and my stomach not even trying, I'll get wound up."

"I do that all the time," he says.

"And that's why I masturbate in your shower all the time."

"Fuck," he groans. 

"Are you touching yourself?"

"Just through my boxers."

"Mmm," she says. "But you're hard?"

"Of course, yeah."

"I love waking up with your dick pressing into me," she says. "I keep thinking one of these days I'm just going to roll over and start grinding on you."

"Please do."

Clarke laughs. "I will, soon." She pauses. "I want you all the time."

"You have me," he says. "Are you touching your clit yet?"

"No."

"Is that how you like to get yourself off? Or do you have toys?"

"I've got toys, but I didn't bring them. It always feels kind of sketchy, packing sex toys when I come visit my mom."

"Do you bring them to my place?"

"No, but you have a detachable shower head."

"Do you ever get yourself off in my bed?"

She laughs. "You're going to be disappointed when I say no, aren't you?"

"A little. You can start any time you want." He kicks off his boxers. "Just socks now."

"Good. Picture?"

"You want a dick pic?"

"I'll send you one back."

"Should have said." He switches over to his camera, takes a pretty shitty picture, but he's got one hand wrapped around himself and it's obvious he really is wearing socks, so he figures it'll do. "Careful, it's really hot."

She laughs. "You're a dork." There's a pause. "A hot dork. Fuck. I can't believe I haven't fucked you yet."

"It's been less than a month."

"Yeah, but--you look like _that_."

"You owe me one," he says, and she laughs. The picture comes through a few seconds later, Clarke in his t-shirt, rucked up to her neck so he can see her breasts, her smile, her other hand disappearing between her legs. She's fucking _gorgeous_. "Jesus, how am I your soulmate?"

"You're perfect for me," she says. "Are you jerking off?"

"Trying not to. I want you to get off first. But, fuck, it's hard. God, you're--" He wets his lips. "I'd be going down on you. I think about that all the fucking time, staying between your legs for fucking _hours_ , getting you off until you can't take it anymore. You won't be able to walk after." She moans, and he closes his eyes, picturing her. "Just your clit, or are you fucking your fingers?"

"Clit," she says. "And I'm still playing with my breast. At what point in this fantasy do you fuck me?"

He laughs. "Whenever you want. Like I said, anything you want."

"Your dick is fucking _perfect_ ," she says. "I really want you inside me."

"All the time, or do you just miss me? Don't care, just--managing my expectations for when I see you."

"All the time. I just--" She gasps. "Let's talk about it later. More about fucking me."

"I want you riding me," he says. "Just push me down and climb on top of me any time you want."

"Want me to hold you down?"

"Fuck, I do _now_. You could even tie me up." He wets his lips. "Tell me what you're doing."

"I'm fucking myself with my fingers, but it's not the same. Fuck, I want you. I'm--I'm so fucking close, Bellamy, just--keep talking."

"Good, I want you to come," he says. "I can't wait to hear you falling apart. God, Clarke, you're fucking _unreal_. Calling me up on fucking _Thanksgiving_ so we can have phone sex? I fucking love you." He wraps his fingers around himself again. "You sound so fucking good, I'm gonna get myself off listening to you. Wishing I was there so I could get my fingers in with yours, fill you up and--"

She gasps out his name, and he starts jerking off in earnest, picturing her coming down, waves of pleasure crashing through her, her body clenching around her fingers.

"Fuck," she manages, when she's recovered. "Bell?" He kind of grunts, and he hears her soft laugh. "Getting close too, huh? Is it weird that I'm really looking forward to jerking you off? I know hand jobs aren't that exciting, but--I can't wait to know what you feel like. I want you coming apart in my hand, my mouth--everywhere."

He groans and comes, still can't speak for a minute as he recovers.

Finally, she laughs. "Okay, that went pretty well."

"Yeah," he manages. "I, uh--wow. I really wasn't expecting that."

"It seemed like--less of a big deal."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't know how to, you now. I wasn't sure what to say. At least now there was a reason. Like--I wasn't there, I wanted to feel close to you."

"Literally all you ever have to do is ask," he says. "But if you're not ready to do this when we get back, I get it. It can be a vacation thing."

"Very considerate, but--no, I want to be fucking you regularly."

"Awesome." He finds some kleenex to clean himself off. "Well, I'm home on Saturday. And Miller's not coming back until Sunday, so--"

She laughs. "So we can be loud?"

"If you're into that."

He hears her yawn. "I could be into that. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, you definitely gave me a lot to be thankful for." He pauses. "That sounded like it was just about the phone sex, but--"

"I know," she says. "I love you. See you on Saturday."

He thinks about texting Miller, but Miller would probably murder him, so he just stares up at his ceiling, grinning and a little sticky, and traces her name on his arm.

The girl of his dreams. No question.


End file.
